The Willow
by Next to Something
Summary: A short love story about a prince and his mortal. LegolasOC. Oneshot. Rated T for innuendo. R&R!


Disclaimer: You know what is mine and what is not.

Quick note: Rated for innuendo…nothing bad, but I'm paranoid about the rating. No real timeline, just not during the fellowship.

-Willow-

She was a guilty pleasure, really- this woman. She was sin and salvation in every aspect. By her simply being a woman, he was condemned. Her voice did not ring as softly and purely as those feminine voices he was so accustomed to. Her hair was an ash-like color unheard of in the Green Woods. And her eyes. Simply, brown. So austere and yet so intriguing. They did not hold hues of blue and violet and slate, but instead, just an earthy brown.

He found her, or rather, she found him. The woman-child of the mortal merchant, she held no tangible allure save her foreign ways. Her features were pretty though easily dwarfed by the striking beauty of any elf. She was more than a head shorter than all the court of Greenwood, her tiny hands and slight waist caused her to appear even more like a child to the eyes of the Immortal.

But she found him. His heart. She released his soul.

It began, and ended, with a willow tree. It was here that the girl played as a child, and it was here she grew into a woman beneath the branches. One day, as her father bartered with the elves his mortal trinkets and spices, she came to lay on the soft grass and watch the day grow through the leaves. He saw her from the path, and though he had seen her so many times before in this same place, this day, the day his life began, he stood transfixed. She was plaiting her hair, absently braiding in leaves and flowers and sprigs of lavender. No longer a child, she drew him to her. He still cannot remember walking over to her, nor how he greeted her, he can only remember dusk finding them, fingers intertwined, beneath her Willow.

The next few years were beautiful. She, his mortal, made everything lovely. He was intoxicated with her presence, her small hands which were created to be held in his. Her fair skin with its imperfections, like the scar on the inside of her knee and the small mole beside her navel, fascinated him. He made a game of counting the freckles that dusted her face and shoulders. No sooner could he number the stars in the heavens, but in truth, he enjoyed the endeavor of ravishing her body too much to care. And her scent- the smell of smoke. It wasn't the smoke of pipes that so many men and dwarfs were fond of, nor the smoke of a cedar fire, built to ward off the cold night. It was fragrant and indescribable and perfect and her.

He lost himself in the days he spent with her, never noticing how they swept by. For years she came to the woods with her father and for years they loved each other beneath the willow branches. It was beneath her Willow that their years ended as well. She was to wed a suitor, a wealthy merchant friend of her father. Though he said goodbye, her parting was sudden and harsh. One day, it seemed, she simply no longer existed within the woods.

It was as if his father knew his son's mortal had gone, for he soon began to send suitors his son's way. The grass beneath the willow where the couple spent their days had not even grown cool.

The prince chose a wife quickly and without much thought. His eyes were closed tightly when he kissed her and never did his hand seek hers. This marriage was a duty, a task to be carried out. He felt nothing. Nothing without the woman-child who so briefly entered his life.

Mere days before the prince and his bride were to profess their undying love for each other in the presence of the court and commoners, he left. He rode without thought and without direction, and soon found himself seeking out the home of his mortal. He traveled the streets to her home with such confidence and assurance was each footstep. But when he found himself looking at her door, he could think of nothing to do.

What would he say? Why did he honestly come here? To take her back with him? To tell her of his bride? It was as if nothing made sense. Just as he lowered his head in defeat, preparing to leave, the cottage door slowly opened. He lifted his eyes and beheld her. He gazed at her as if he was trying to sear the look of her in his memory.

They stood there, in silence, for what to her seemed ages, and to him, an instant.

_I am to wed._

The woman held his gaze for a moment then looked to the ground. A single tear fell on the stone steps as she cried softly. His heart ached at her pain but stopped at her next words.

_I am with child._

With child. How many times had he wished that he would bear his children? And now she stood in her own maternal beauty and he could find no joy in it. No joy because she was to bear the child of a merchant she cared nothing for. How was he to happy for her when all he felt was betrayal?

_She is yours._

He barely heard the words slip from her lips, but as soon as their meaning struck him his hand flew to her face, lifting her chin so he could see her eyes. Pure sincerity shown through the clouds of unshed tears. She was _his_. At that moment he wasn't sure if he meant his child or his mortal. And at the moment, he wasn't sure if he cared.

She led him to her bedchamber in the back of the small house. Her husband was gone and wouldn't return for days. When she pushed open the doors, the smell of fragrant smoke washed over him once more. She dropped his hand and reached for a tiny limb covered with a dark powder out of a vase. She lifted it to the oil lamp hanging near the door and waited for it to catch fire. Then she blew softly on the flame until it was nearly extinguished and placed it on a small try next to her bed. The smoke given off of this burning limb's glowing ember encircled him and he knew he would never forget its scent.

They made love slowly and carefully. As they lay side by side, breathing deeply, the elf's eyes drifted to the small mound of his lover's stomach. He rested his hand there, feeling the life they created beneath his fingers. She placed her hand on his and wept. They both knew he could never stay, nor that she could ever leave.

He did stay for a few days, then left to wed an elf he did not love. Those few days, filled with smoke and love and joy were the last they spent together.

His mortal, as all mortals do, died. He yearned for death after she left him, his broken heart causing him to fade. But one day, a few years after the prince knew of her death, and elderly merchant came to the borders of the woods with his daughter. The prince greeted the two, as was his protocol for all visitors, and heard the child laughing. For a moment, he thought he had found his mate again, that she had come back to him. But all he saw was the child, giggling as she threw fistfuls of leaves in the air.

This was his daughter.

With the sight of his child, just as lovely as her mother, with his blue eyes, his soul was saved. Purpose filled him once again. He was to protect this child, even from his distance. To watch her grow up and mature in his woods is what he would now live for.

He walked slowly over to the girl and held out his hand. She grasped it tightly and followed him with eagerness.

_I want to show you something._

The little girl scampered after him, laughing and singing (an Elvin song, no less). Then they reached the Tree.

_This is where your mother played as a little girl. This is where your mother fell in love. This is where you mother created you, my darling._

His daughter gazed at the tree with eyes of pure wonderment. Running beneath the branches, she picked leaves and swung about on the low hanging vines.

_What is your name?_

With a toothy smile, the child replied.

_Willow._


End file.
